Ka-tet tamalero.
Vol. I: The moislanger
Chapter I: He
Mr. Tamalero fled across CU and the moislanger followed.
CU was the apotheosis of all cities, huge, standing to the sky for what might have been parsecs in all directions (that's the way it looks when you're wet and all you want is a place where to take over) . Green and flooded, without any other feature save for some students and beers that brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death.
The moislinger walked stodily (you know, the way Moi walks!), not hurrying, not loafing. He had progressed through the khef over many years, and had reached the fifth level (o sea, el quinto semestre). At seventh or eighth, he would not have been wet (I suspect he would not have been at CU that night). He was not seventh or eighth, he was fifth. So he was wet. In a vague way, all this pleased him. It was romantic.
Below the jeans were his wet sneakers. Now, they were the no-colour of rain or dust, though once upon a time they had been red and blue. The sneakers themselves made no noise. They had spilled water (haha). There was no need to make noise in the sterility of CU.
The moislinger had followed the tamalero across CU for twenty minutes now and he had no found any tamal, only some roses.
- Perhaps the roses are a message, spelled out letter by letter. Life. Or, Love. Or even maybe, eat at Sangrons. It didn't matter. He had no understadin of ideograms if they were ideograms....
CU was the apotheosis of all cities, huge, standing to the sky for what might have been parsecs in all directions (that's the way it looks when you're wet and all you want is a place where to take over) . Green and flooded, without any other feature save for some students and beers that brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death.
The moislinger walked stodily (you know, the way Moi walks!), not hurrying, not loafing. He had progressed through the khef over many years, and had reached the fifth level (o sea, el quinto semestre). At seventh or eighth, he would not have been wet (I suspect he would not have been at CU that night). He was not seventh or eighth, he was fifth. So he was wet. In a vague way, all this pleased him. It was romantic.
Below the jeans were his wet sneakers. Now, they were the no-colour of rain or dust, though once upon a time they had been red and blue. The sneakers themselves made no noise. They had spilled water (haha). There was no need to make noise in the sterility of CU.
The moislinger had followed the tamalero across CU for twenty minutes now and he had no found any tamal, only some roses.
- Perhaps the roses are a message, spelled out letter by letter. Life. Or, Love. Or even maybe, eat at Sangrons. It didn't matter. He had no understadin of ideograms if they were ideograms....
7 kommentarer:
¿Qué te parece hacer la semana de Wittgenstein? Es lo mismo que la semana de la tortuga, pero sin menos mar... Aunque. MmMm. nO, Es lo mismo que la Turtle Week.
Puedes poner ésta foto --> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:WittRealschuleCrop.jpg
Digo... Digo!
No se podía escoger a un mejor personaje para tu épica…creo que es el héroe (im)perfecto. El héroe modelo para todo hombre que tiene contacto con él… el dandy del siglo XXI que representarà el orgullo varonil...
I agree. Moy is THE Man. He could replace Hamlet as the character of characters. Isn't that wonderful? Ha,ha,ha.
Kari:
Síiii! Me parece una muy buena idea...Y la foto está genial! Thankssss!
Victor:
Este siglo es, ciertamente, el de ños héroes imperfectos (una sociedad como esta, necesita héroes con los cuales sentirse identificados, ¿no?...AUNQUE DE PREFERENCIA...NOOOO! JAJA).
Me ha gustado eso del "dandy del siglo XXI". Muy significante!
Javier:
Mmm...¿Qué es lo primero que piensas al nombrar a Hamlet? ¿No sería demasiado traumático para nosotros? (Que mira que ya no somso tan...puros y cuerdos, ja)
Aunque, con todo (y el trauma), debo admitir que encaja. Sí, y encaja muy bien!
hahhha I hadn't read this... it's awesome... you should continue xD
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